Month: August 2017

Australia has been going through a political furore over the last month, the halls of Canberra, a city eerily similar to Milton Keynes, have been in heated debate.

Next week Australians will decide via postal vote whether they think of themselves as homophobic or not. Traditionally the country is known for its homophobic racist past times such as ‘poke a poofter’ and ‘keep the migrants out’ became popular games for children.

Ironically one of Australia’s favourite ice creams is called Golden Gaytime, it seems this is lost on most of the people who live on the island and happily suck on a few gaytimes in the summer months.

It is not known how this will affect the common Australian ‘bloke’ as many of them cannot get passed the thought of homosexual people not being discriminated against.

More and more drugs come to our shores every year from all over the world. But none have come from the higher echelons of democratically elected leaders. It is well known that President Elect Donald Trump is a shrewd and canny business man but few would have imagined he try to pull of this stunt.

It seems that while he was distracting the world with talk of building a border wall theme park with Mexico, he was also employing a German father and son duo to produce thousands of ecstasy pills for him. 5,000 carrot coloured ecstasy tablets to be exact, in the shape of Donald’s head with the word Trump emblazoned on the back.

It is thought the drugs would have been sold on the internet under the slogan, “Trump makes partying great again”.

Ecstasy often leads people to dance funnily and sweat profusely whilst loving everything in sight.

One arresting officer commented on the uncanny likeness of the President’s exuberant hairstyle on the pills and said a good hand must have made them.

The White House deny all allegations after The Rambler opened up the discourse. No other news agencies have taken the same stance because it cant be confirmed that Donald is in any way involved.

Yesterday marked the first day of the silencing of Big Ben, for a number of years the clock will not be able to tell the time and confuse Londoners as a result. This is due to the current alcoholism that the clock has found itself in after falling off the wagon a bit and developing a taste for single malt. A rehab team has been sent in to try and sort out the problem.

However, no one is as outraged as the Conservative MP, Jacob Rees-Mogg, referring to it as the greatest tragedy of our time. He insists that the clock should be allowed to keep drinking as it has every right to do so.

The PM, whilst not happy with the idea, didn’t think it good for the country’s image to have an alcoholic clock as one of its main tourist attractions and feared global backlash after the clock began to slur at innocent bystanders.

Whilst other problems of this green and pleasant land, like child poverty and the GP crisis, pale into insignificance compared to the national treasures alcoholism.

One of the country’s favourite cultural past times, watching television, has come under a dramatic turn of events.

Every night since Love Island finished, TV sets have been found smashed in their hundreds, up and down the country. It can be confirmed that people are getting bored waiting for the new series of X-factor to start again, and are fed up with the new prime time show, Cats Doing Silly Things. A powerful insight into the people of Great Britain.

35 Year Old, Courtney Smith, had this to say after smoking half her cigarette in one puff,

“I was a TV addict now I can’t stand the thing, its bonkers….

“….used to love coming home after my long commute which involved three buses and tram ride to plonk down on the sofa so I could judge some people on TV, I remember getting upset if I missed even a minute. Now with this new cat show, its rubbish and I don’t get it…”

She says she will just have a bath and listen to old CD compilations she made as a teenager instead of tuning into the old box.

From Aberdeen to Southampton, cities and towns are being filled with the vestiges of visual entertainment, it seems now the entertainment comes from throwing them from a roof or high place.

Police have issued a warning after several men were arrested in London following their successful attempt to throw a good handful of televisions from Tower Bridge, with one even landing on the deck of a tourist boat. Apparently one Australian traveler asked if it was a local fish.

Today it can be confirmed that 25 year old Timothy Wretchington, who is going through a quarter life crisis, bought a self help book by a leading guru, as a means of finding a way out of these current doldrums.

He graduated with a First Class Honours Degree in Philosophy from Bristol but since then has struggled with the existential weight of his existence.

“I have done everything I can think of, broke up with my girlfriend of seven years thinking she was the problem…..I went around the world, to India, Australia, Latin America and didn’t post one picture to Instagram. That didn’t help either, my mum actually thought I was dead because I had gone quiet on social media…..so I bought this book….”

The self help book listed improving your emotional vocabulary and to break visceral reactions, or to just try looking a pictures of kittens playing.

They danced into the night, shuffling in white socks while clouds of glitter floated through the air. They sweated, flirted and felt euphoric. They returned to their tents a mess, gurning as the sun came up, and slept until it went.

Now as unusual as this may sound, this happens all summer on our shores and all over Europe. The popularity of festivals has grown so much they are not just attended by peace loving, tripped out hippies with a penchant for rock n roll. Now they cater for everyone.

At a dance festival in Eastern Europe this weekend, popular with the white middle class English, a particularly strong batch of cocaine was reported as making people have the best time they have ever had, anywhere. This feeling of ecstasy spread over the festival site as word got round and the local dealers made a killing.

Tom Love, as he likes to be called, 24, from Windsor, who went to the festival had this to say when we spoke to him at Gatwick Airport this morning on his return from the continent.

“Mate I am still buzzing so much! Can’t believe what a good time we all had, I think I danced bare, for three days straight. I dread to think what its going to be like when I start coming down..

….Hopefully my father won’t find out, but I am already planning on going back out to another festival in a couple of weeks instead of starting my masters, which is what my parents wanted”.

He wasn’t the only one to express such sentiments as The Rambler found out after our reporter was offered a threesome by a pale sweaty couple who were still gurning. Needless to say our man booked himself a plane ticket there and then, thinking of nothing but finding the source of these drugs.

What he found there, was dissapointment. He tracked the drug gang down to a dodgy barn in the woods, somewhere in northern Bulgaria and confronted them with his dictaphone. The gang it turns out, was just a man called Borislava, who had done pretty well in school chemistry classes, and his mangy cat.

He explained, in good English, that the reason he sold the drugs was because of his sick grandmother, whose medical care was very expensive and this was the only way he could afford it. He made the drugs and paid local kids to be the pushers. He insisted he was helping the village economy.

What he said next quite shocked our reporter when he revealed that he purchases all the necessary ingredients from a small pharmacy just round the corner of his house.

“Yes, I have never even seen cocaine or ecstasy I just googled a simple recipe and copied it. I don’t even know a proper dealer.”

Our man asked why people thought it was so good,

“No idea, it might be the talcum powder….”

After a word with our editor in chief, the reporter has decided to take himself around European festivals for the rest of the summer, actually trying to find some real drugs.

Stay updated at The Daily Ramlber this summer for more related stories.

In our in most current section, the aim is to meet the average Britain to see what they get up to on a daily basis. This week our lifestyle and culture reporter was sent deep into the West Country to see what she could find. After three days she managed to find some wi-fi at a deserted Little Chef just outside of Ilminster to tell us she hadn’t found anyone.

But then the man who cleared her coffee cup with a barely recognizable ‘thank you’ seemed just about as everyday as you could get. So taking a chance she asked if he was game to be a feature for Everyday People and Their Everyday Lives, to which he replied,

The man in question, Talbot Winterbottom, 72, of Frog Lane, Dinnington has lived in the hamlet all of his life. In fact he has never been further then ten miles from home. This is because of his love for two things. The once great national game of Tiddlywinks and the traditional dancing of the Morris. And that’s all a man needs he says.

When you think of Morris Dancing, images of aging men with ale bellies and their alewives dancing and whacking sticks in the many lost villages of England, come to mind, and that’s exactly how it happens.

Sadly Talbot’s dance group has lost many of its members due to things like arms bums & tums and Jazzercise becoming more popular, even among the geriatrics of Deep Somerset. He began, what is known in the industry as prancing the Morris, at the age of 9. Since then he has never faltered a dance .

Through his passion for bells and neckerchiefs he found his other great love, Tiddlywinks, and was actually alive for the birth of the modern game in 1955. He is the longest running member of The Dinnington Winking Tiddlers Team. They have never won a game.

(Translated from the original dialect)

“Ever since I can remember I have been dancing and working my wrists. See there isn’t much round here by way of fun for a young lad. My father passed during the Second War due to a case of severe dysentery. My mother thought I might have been homosexual, she figured it was phase but when I kept dancing she realized what I loved. . .

I have seen the decades come and go, but the Morris endures till the end, as does the tiddly winks. I promised my late wife that I wouldn’t stop skipping and flicking, and I haven’t. I will do this to my last breath.”

As cities grow and technology consumes us, this old man still burns the flame bright for a culture that is being replaced. He endures in this green corner of England.

Today reports are reaching us from officials in Washington and Pyongyang of a momentous moment in the current political climate. Just when the world thought it would be plunged into another proxy war to liberate a supposedly oppressed people, the leaders of the two quarreling countries resolved the issue in a somewhat surprising, prepubescent, school yard way. They compared penises.

Apparently the meeting took place in the infamous DMZ (Demilitarized Zone) between North and South Korea, and was the first of its kind. Amid rising diplomatic tensions, sporadic missile tests and flamboyant media posturing, not even the leading international relations experts could have predicted this.

As generals from both countries were preparing themselves for violent conflict, it seems that what’s been the legs of both leaders has quelled war. The aftermath of the meeting has rocked the world’s press. Details of the meeting are somewhat shady, with the nitty gritty being left out by both parties.

From what little information we have gathered so far, we know that both the Supreme Leader and the Leader of the Free World, talked in the Joint Security Area. The aims of the meeting weren’t released before it took place but in a joint press conference directly afterwards, both parties could confirm :

“After intense, heated talks lasting over five hours, the leaders of our countries asked for the room to be cleared, leaving them alone, they came to a climatic conclusion, with what they say was the easiest way to resolve differences and avoid war. . .”

As the report suggests, it seems that at the same time both men pulled their members from their trousers and laid them on the table. The two men were shocked at the similarities both sets of genitalia had, and in fact called in their most trusted advisers, such was the disbelief. Trump was heard yelling from the room “HEY, GET A LOAD OF THIS!!”.

White House Staff can confirm that the length and girth of both members are exactly the same, but details of actual measurements has been left out, that’s for their wives one press officer joked. We do know that they are below the global average for a penis.

As the old saying goes, there is a little bit of truth in every joke, as Melania and Ri were immediate flown to the room amid the incredulity of the President and Supreme Leader. It is not known how this event will affect global diplomacy. Insiders from both parties are calling for a re-measurement, with no short answer forth coming.

The political world reached a furore in wake of the meeting, with many world leaders condemning the act. Although going against the grain, President Emmanuel Macron of France couldn’t hide his disappointed at not being invited, and with classic Gallic flair had this to say:

“I hope when there is another sausage party I will be invited otherwise I will bomb the fuckers….”